


Burma Shave and Mistletoe

by Shaye



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Moving In Together, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaye/pseuds/Shaye
Summary: It's a new chapter in their story, one of many, and they couldn't be happier. Or, Happy and Toby move in together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honey41283](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey41283/gifts).



> Merry Christmas,  
> <3 Your Secret Santa

He’s been quiet, too quiet. She usually begs him to shut his mouth, but this time she’s worried. The silence unnerves her. She’s no behaviorist, but the tapping of his thumbs and the mindless flipping through the channels doesn’t fill her with ease. They’re sitting on the couch, side by side, and for a reason she can’t yet determine, they seem miles apart. After the sixth channel switch, to some brainless comedy she just can’t fathom either of them finding pleasure in, she grabs the remote and shuts the television off. When he doesn’t tear his eyes from the screen, she calls his name. He doesn’t respond. Grabbing his hands, she turns further toward him. “Toby?” She taps a little rhythm on his knuckles. “Earth to Doc?”

 

“What?” He turns his head, seemingly shaking himself out a fog. “What’s up?”

 

“What’s up?” She raises her eyebrows. “What’s up with you?” At his questioning look, she adds, “You’re being weird.”

 

“You always think I’m weird.”

 

She huffs. “Well you’re being weirder than usual.” She lets out a nervous chuckle, looking down. “I don’t know if this is about earlier--” She looks nervous, a little vulnerable even. “I can just say no. We don’t have to--”

 

He shakes his head quickly at the implication of her words. “No, no.” He grips her hands tighter. “I’m glad you asked me.” He doesn’t want her to think she can’t be herself with him--not after all the work they’ve put into being more open and honest with each other. “I want to meet your old friends.” He taps her shoulder, chuckling. “Even if one of them is your ex-girlfriend.”

 

She pushes against his shoulder. “I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

 

“First, ow.” He rubs his arm. “Second, for the record, I am very excited about going.”

 

“To pull the Harvard card?” She smirks. “To shrink them all?”

 

“Maybe a little.” He shrugs, pulling her closer to his side and gently rubbing her back. “But also because you’re willing to share that part of your life with me.” He doesn’t see her, but he’s positive she’s rolling her eyes. 

 

She’s silent for a few minutes, enjoying the light pressure on her back and the whisper of a kiss on her head, before she musters up the courage to ask what’s on his mind.

 

“You.”

 

“Seriously, Doc.”

 

“You.” He says again. She feels the nervous energy coming off of him in waves. “And me.” He exhales. “And you moving in with me.”

 

She stills and he’s worried, yet again, that this isn’t what she wants. That this is too good to be true and soon enough it’s going to crash and burn. “No.” She says quietly and it’s his turn to still. She looks up into his eyes. “But you can move in with me.” She shoots him a smile, her eyes a little brighter as the realization crosses his face.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, probably something cheesy that Happy is already rolling her eyes at, so she pulls him into a kiss. She feels him smile into the embrace and reciprocate it, their teeth clinking lightly. Her hands wrap around his cheeks, her thumbs smoothing over the stubble, as his hands pull at her waist, bringing her closer. Pulling apart when the need for air becomes necessary, Happy breathes across his lips, “You really thought I would say no?”

 

He looks a little sheepish.

 

“I love you.” She whispers, forcing her eyes to hold his gaze. 

 

“I know.” He leans in to press a light kiss on her nose, enjoying the smile she allows to grace her face.

 

“Okay.” 

 

He hears the trepidation in her voice. “I  _ know _ .” Taking her face in his hands this time, he puts some distance between them. “I know.” Nodding, he makes sure that he has her attention. “We might show love in different ways, but I don’t doubt that you love me.” He presses a tender kiss to her lips, taking a moment to savor being wrapped up in her. “Okay?”

 

She nods, her eyes downcast, before snuggling into his chest. He thinks she’s blushing, but really who’s to say, and he’ll take this show of intimacy any day. Rubbing her back, he simply picks up the remote and flips to find a cartoon he knows she’ll make fun of him for later. They’re moving in together.

 

* * *

 

 

It happens fast, faster than he thought possible. Well, not possible, but faster than he expected Happy to welcome him fully into her apartment. In his opinion, it’s a good surprise.

 

“Are you ever going to unpack?”

 

“No, I’m still hoping this is real.” He laughs as she throws a sock at him, the only thing within range as she folds some laundry. 

 

“Do I need to call you a Stupid-Dummy-Moron-Jerk?” 

 

He smiles with her at the memory. Sidling up to her, he lowers his voice. “If the follow-up is as good as last time.”

 

She smirks, looking him in the eyes. “Right after or,” she moves until her lips meet his ear, “the finale?”

 

A little redder at the implication, he shrugs, a grin on his face. “Either work for me.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” She leans closer to his mouth, watching as his eyes shut in anticipation, before wriggling out of his grip and laughing at the disgruntled expression on his face. “After we unpack.”

 

He groans. “That’s something old married couples say to each other.”

 

Looking over her shoulder, she adds a flippant, “Sometimes I like being domestic and shit.”

 

“So romantic.”

 

She mumbles something that sounds like a ‘yeah, yeah’ and sits down in front of the wall of boxes on his side of the bed. Pulling a pocket knife out of her jeans, she opens the blade and slices the tape of the nearest package.

 

“It worries me that you carry that around.”

 

“I’ve carried it forever.”

 

“I know.” He seems a little saddened by her words. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head at the thought. “I feel like I could be dismembered at any moment.”

 

“Keeps things interesting,” she shrugs. “Spice of life.”

 

“That’s not exactly the spice I want in my life.”

 

She shakes her head, returning to the task at hand. “What…” she grimaces, pulling out a frilly, stained, and clearly plaid seat cover, “is this?”

 

“A living room set?”

 

She makes a face, pulling out other pieces of fabric and doilies. “Why do you even have this stuff?”

 

He grabs a doily, shaking his head as he smooths the edges. “It was a phase.”

 

“Of poor judgement?”

 

“Har, har,” he pretends to laugh. “I was low on cash. Mom gave me these.” He places the doily on a dresser. “Couldn’t get rid of it.”

 

She goes quiet, then stands up and reaches for his hand. He’s not making eye contact, so she tries to joke. “If the rest of these boxes are like this one, I’m going to need some wine.”

 

It does the trick and before long he’s firing off an “It’s only--”

 

“Special circumstances!” She calls, already on her way to the kitchen. “And before you even think about it, your curtains are being burned in the fireplace, tonight if I can help it.”

 

“But they’re classic.”

 

She squints. “Classically ugly.” Uncorking the open bottle of red, she huffs. “You are not going to degrade the stylistic superiority of my apartment.”

 

Having made his way into the living room, a few feet from the kitchen, he corrects, “Our apartment.” He looks around, “Besides, how is this stylistically superior?”

 

She looks from her modern layout, to the fresh paint on the walls, to the minimalistic decor she loves. “Compared to your old apartment, most things are superior.”

 

“Aw, hit me in the heart why dontcha?” He walks closer, stealing a sip from her glass before she can protest. “I like your apartment,” he says. “But, now that it’s ours, I say we give it more of a personal touch.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Pictures on the walls? Some throw pillows? A little less metal?” 

 

“I like metal.”

 

He laughs. “I know.” He leans down. “But a little human in the mix wouldn’t hurt.”

 

Sighing, the mock exasperation present on her face, she resigns. “But the second you add tacky signs and motivational sayings to the walls, I’m kicking you out.”

 

“But,” he pouts, “my Burma Shave sign is a classic! It’s a collectable. You can’t even find them anymore.”

 

“Good thing,” she mutters. However, seeing his pout, she throws her head back. “Fine, you can keep it.” She points in his direction. “But only somewhere I don’t have to see it all the time and that I won’t have to pretend to like every time someone comes over.”

 

“You would never pretend to like it.” She nods in affirmation. “It’s a deal.” He holds his hand out to shake hers. “You’re getting soft on me, Quinn.”

 

“Quinn-Curtis,” she corrects.

 

He stops, his mouth pulling into a small, hopeful smile. “You’re, you’re going to take my name?”

 

“Hyphenated,” she emphasizes. “Let’s not get crazy.” She looks down. “And not at work because that’s just weird and you know Walt’s going to say it’s inefficient and Sly’s going to be upset with the change and Paige is going to get excited and say it every chance she gets.”

 

He smiles wider now, his hands wrapping around her waist, rubbing the tender skin of her low back. “Fair enough.” He leans down to place his forehead against hers. “I didn’t expect you to change your name at all, for the record.”

 

“I know.” She brushes her nose against his, trying to communicate how much more she feels than can say. “I want to.”

 

Closing the distance between them, he breathes a kiss onto her lips. He savors the slow push and pull, the give and take, before sliding her upper lip between his. Sucking lightly, he pulls her closer, smothering the space between them. Then he moves from her lips, pressing open-mouthed kisses across her jaw and down her neck. “Unpack later?”

 

She nods, tugging on the strands of his hair as he leans back in, sucking on her pulse point. “Screw packing.” She moans. “We have better things to do.”

 

* * *

 

It takes six months to finish unpacking. Early distractions give way to an extended period of cases, cases give way to holidays, and holidays give way to more distractions (not that they can say they mind). But it’s their home now.

 

They settle easily, comfortable with each other in their space. His hazelnut creamer sits beside her half and half. Her three bottles of shampoo (he doesn’t know why she needs so many) sit next to his two-in-one (you’re a child, she says). And the Burma Shave sign ends up on his nightstand (she figures compromise is good).  It’s not his life or her life; it’s their life now.

 

Their first big fight comes as a surprise. They’ve never been in a position they couldn’t run away from before. His home is her home and her home is his home (it’s as simple as that). Somehow, it manages to make them stronger. And after a cold night spent on opposite sides of the bed, they’re ready to talk. They’re stronger now.

 

The good times outnumber the bad. There are laughter and cuddles, long nights and early mornings. He teaches her how to bake. She teaches him how to properly string a Christmas tree (the light to tree ratio must be exact). They’re happy now.

 

And when they sit together, cuddled up on the loveseat, watching with small smiles as their daughter crawls through the wrapping paper covering the floor, more content with the trash than her presents, they know they’re a family now, too (with many more stories left to tell).

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fluff! Let me know what you think :)


End file.
